THEY CUT DOWN A BLOOMING FIELD

(translated by Karin Pečnikar)

They cut down a blooming field.

Cut the rustling birches.

Forced my words into silence.

The same words

don’t have the same meanings anymore.

I speak them to the same man –

but he’s not the same anymore.

A different grass is growing in the field.

The birches are twisting.

My words call to another man.

Will anyone hear me?